


When She Comes Home

by Triangulum



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cousin Incest, F/M, Jon and Arya reuniting, Oral Sex, R plus L equals J, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8291710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: “I’ve missed you,” Jon says, and that is so inadequate. It doesn’t encapsulate how lost and miserable he was without her, how when he’d heard she was missing, it took every bit of self-control that he possessed not to abandon the Night’s Watch and tear the world apart looking for her. It doesn’t say how she’s still the first thought he has every morning when he wakes, and the last before he sleeps. That now, holding her is the first time since returning to Winterfell that he truly feels home.
“I’ve missed you, too, so much,” she says, her breath ghosting across his face. Her words are as heavy as his, saying a million things with only a few words.
Or
Another Jon and Arya reunion fic





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags. Don't be that person who comments and says something's disgusting if you know you're not going to like it in the first place.

As awful as Jon feels about it, when he’d first seen Sansa again inside the gates of Castle Black, as happy as he’d been to see her, he’d immediately wished that it were a different Stark standing there. He’d rushed to hug her, trying to push the thought aside, but the bitter disappointment that it wasn’t Arya in his arms haunts him still. Now, though Winterfell is back in their hands, and he’s been reunited with both Sansa and Bran, he feels the loss of her more keenly than before, worse even than when he first left for the Wall.

Every time they gain a new ally, Jon asks them of Arya, if they’ve seen or heard anything of the youngest Stark daughter. He never has any luck. While visiting a nearby town, he hears a rumor, though. A rumor of the murder of Walder Frey and his sons by an unknown young girl. And he can’t help but wish.

Jon and his men are tired when they get back to Winterfell after spending so much time traveling. They’re just within sight of the gates when the men around Jon tense, hushed whispers rusting through them like the wind through the trees. A woman is standing at the gate, wind whipping her dark hair around her face and shoulders. Despite the cold, she wears no cloak over her simple breeches and tunic. Her head is held high, arms loose at her sides. It’s not until they get closed that Jon can see her face, can see her grey eyes boring into his, full of cautious hope.

“Arya,” he breathes.

Jon isn’t frozen in place like he’d been when he’d seen Sansa, and later Bran; as soon as he recognizes her, he’s urging his horse forward, as fast as possible, until he’s right in front of her. He carelessly throws himself from his horse, nearly falling. That makes her smile at least. They both move at once and a second later, she’s in his arms, his face buried in her hair as he tried his hardest to will back the tears threatening to fall. Someone’s murmuring and he realizes it’s him, whispering, “It’s you,” against her hair. Arya clings to him desperately, her short nails digging into his flesh even through his clothing, but he doesn’t care. It proves she’s here, not just a horrible, cruel dream.

“Jon,” she whispers, turning her head into his neck. She takes a deep breath and sighs, making no move to let him go. 

Jon only pulls away to wave off his confused and restless men. 

“Your Grace…” one of them says, reluctant to leave him alone. 

“Go,” Jon says, never taking his eyes from Arya, afraid that if he does, she’ll disappear. He gently takes her face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks. Her cheekbones are too sharp, he needs to get a few good meals into her. She circles his wrists with her fingers, like she can’t stand the thought of not touching him, either. Jon leans forward, hands still cupping her face, and rests their foreheads together. 

“I’ve missed you,” Jon says, and that is so inadequate. It doesn’t encapsulate how lost and miserable he was without her, how when he’d heard she was missing, it took every bit of self-control that he possessed not to abandon the Night’s Watch and tear the world apart looking for her. It doesn’t say how she’s still the first thought he has every morning when he wakes, and the last before he sleeps. That now, holding her is the first time since returning to Winterfell that he truly feels home.

“I’ve missed you, too, so much,” she says, her breath ghosting across his face. Her words are as heavy as his, saying a million things with only a few words.

“You finally grew,” he teases, roughing a hand over her hair. She’s still shorter than him, barely reaching his chin, but she’s grown so much that it makes him ache. 

Arya laughs and bats his hand away.

“You finally have grown an actual mustache,” she teases back. 

Jon laughs and something in him loosens, something that’s kept him from truly laughing in so long. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, making sure to drape his cloak over her, and pulls her to his side. Her arm wraps around his waist and they walk back through the gates of their home.

Jon makes her eat something, even though she says she’s already eaten. Sansa and Bran sit with them for a while, happy to have their remaining family together. They all retreat to Jon’s rooms for privacy for prying eyes. Jon desperately wants to ask where she’s been and what’s happened to her, but something in him knows that she won’t talk about it in front of Sansa and Bran. He waits until they have left to take Arya’s hand. The fire before them sends shadows throughout the room and over the lines of her face.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. Her hand tightens around his.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently,” she says quietly. Her gaze is on Nymeria and Ghost lying together by the fire, as if she’s afraid to meet his eyes. 

“I won’t,” he promises. “Arya, you’re here with me. That’s all I want.”

Arya begins to speak, voice quiet. Jon wonders if she’s told anyone any of this before now. Her voice shakes when she tell him of watching Ned Stark die, and doesn’t waiver again. Not through her time with the Hound, of what she saw at the Red Wedding, nor of her time at the House of Black and White. She tells him how she couldn’t bring herself to throw Needle into the water. It was her last tie to her life, to him, and that’s what brought her back from being No One. Arya holds her head high when she tells what she did to Walder Frey, a challenge in her eyes, daring him to condemn her. He can’t, nor does he want to.

“I have seen worse, Arya,” Jon says.

“I’ve done awful things, Jon,” she says. “And I don’t regret them."

“I’ve seen worse,” he repeats. “There are things beyond the wall. Things you can’t imagine. True evil. And that isn’t you. I am just so sorry you had to do that.”

Arya studies him, as if trying to detect a lie, but relaxes when she finds none.

“Nymeria found me on my way here,” she says. “I think she wanted to be home as much as I did.”

Jon glances down at their feet. Ghost and Nymeria are still wrapped around each other, Ghost licking at Nymeria’s muzzle.

“We’re both glad you’re here,” he says.

Arya worms her way under his arm, curling into Jon’s side. They stay there for a long time, long enough that Jon needs to stand and add wood to the fire. Arya takes his hand when he sits again and plays with his fingers. 

“Bran told me of your true parentage,” she says. Jon’s hand twitches and she tightens her grip. “Are you all right?”

Jon exhales harshly.

“I don’t know what to think of it. Fath – Lord Stark raised me, but I’ve always felt separate, as if I didn’t belong with your family,” Jon says.

“ _Our_ family,” Arya corrects him. “You may not be Father’s son, but you’re still a Stark, you’re still our cousin. Arguably, that’s better.”

Jon snorts.

“How is that better? It means my claim to Winterfell is even weaker,” he says.

“It’s better,” Arya insists.

“How is it better?” Jon repeats. “How is it better when you’re no longer my sister?”

Arya hesitates, biting her lip nervously. 

“It’s better,” she says slowly, “because I don’t love you as a sister loves a brother.”

Jon recoils, hurt lancing through him, but Arya’s grip is strong and there’s no way he can wrench his hand away without hurting her. 

“Let go,” he says, trying to hide the pain clawing up his throat.

“No, you misunderstand me. I love you more. I love you in ways a sister shouldn’t,” she says, holding his hand in both of hers. Jon stills at her words. “You cannot tell me you don’t feel it, too. Tell me you haven’t always felt it.”

“Arya…” he says, but he can’t go any farther. He can’t deny what she’s saying. He loved all the children that he was raised with as siblings, but Arya was always different. Arya has always been special, someone he’s held closer to his heart than anyone else. 

“Tell me,” she says again. She places his hand on her chest, right over her heart. He face is open and vulnerable in a way she only is with him. “You are not my brother, Jon. Tell me you don’t feel as I do.”

Arya’s eyes are wide and pleading, her nails digging into the skin of his hand. Her heart is beating wildly under his hand, betraying her fear of rejection, a rejection Jon could never give her.

“I love you, Arya,” Jon says. “I love you more than a brother loves a sister. I love you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved in my life.” Arya sags in relief and pulls herself closer to him. “Arya...”

Then she’s climbing into his lap, straddling his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck. Jon’s hands fall to her hips, holding her tightly. He looks at her questioningly, searching for any sign that she’s unsure. He knows he should be, at least. Arya and he were raised as siblings, and even though they aren’t, she is still his cousin. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispers that plenty of lords marry their cousins. It isn’t exactly commonplace, but it happens. But he isn’t a lord, he’s…he doesn’t even know anymore.

Nonetheless, he isn’t unsure of her, and he finds no uncertainty on her face. No, he finds nothing but fierce determination coupled with a soft look he only ever sees directed at him. Jon runs his hand up her side, over the curve of her hip and up her arm to rest a hand on the side of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut as he rubs his thumb over the soft skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. She snorts. “Don’t do that,” he admonishes. She opens her eyes. “You are truly beautiful, Arya. I would never lie to you.”

The look on her face breaks his heart. It’s the look of someone who’s been told their entire life that they aren’t enough. ‘Horseface’, he remembers Sansa calling her.

“I will never lie to you, either,” she promises.

“I know,” he says, and he does. 

Jon gently pulls her down, giving her plenty of time to pull away, and presses a kiss to her lips. He inhales sharply and Jon is about to pull away and apologize, but then she’s pushing her body against his. He spares a brief moment to wonder who taught her to kiss like this, then she’s licking into his mouth and all rational thought flees.

Kissing her is like nothing he’s done before. She has the same passion and fire as Ygritte had, but there’s a softness there, a tenderness with him. There are caresses, and little gasps. There’s her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the only things tethering him to this world. It’s Arya who first claws at his clothes, tugging until he helps her pull his tunic over his head. Her hands run over his bare torso, pausing when they get to the scars left by the traitors of the Night’s Watch. She traces their edges and pulls back to look at him. Her grey eyes are dark and stormy. 

“They’re dead,” he tells her, not needing her to voice her question.

“Good,” she says. “Or I would have killed them, slowly, for this.”

Jon doesn’t doubt her.

“They’re gone,” Jon says, brushing his lips against her. “They’re gone, and it’s just you and me.”

Arya hums and her hands drift even lower, toying at the laces of his breeches.

“Are you going to make me stop?” she asks.

Jon says nothing, but wraps his arms around her thighs and stands swiftly. Arya eeps in surprise and wraps her legs around him. He crosses the room to his bed, laying her gently onto the soft blankets. He won’t stop her, he doesn’t want to. 

“May I?” he asks, taking them hem of her tunic in his fingers. She nods quickly, biting her lower lip. He takes his time undressing her, revealing her soft, pale skin. Once she’s bared before him,and he's bare to match, his fingers skate of the scar on her belly from the Waif. He looks at her in question.

“She’s dead, too,” Arya says.

“Good,” he murmurs, and stretches his body over hers, kissing her again.

Jon trails his lips down her throat and to her chest, pressing kissing over her breasts before licking over a soft, pink nipple. Arya whimpers, her hand tangling in his hair. He flicks his tongue harder, then sucks the nub into his mouth, sucking harder until she’s crying out and trembling beneath them. He trails a hand down her body, not taking his mouth off of her, to tease at her inner thighs. Here she’s hot and damp, her flesh swollen with need as he brushes his fingers over her. Arya gasps, the hand in his hair twisting.

“Please,” Arya gasps. “Jon, please…”

And Jon can never deny her anything. He slips a finger inside of her tight passageway, gently circling the small nub above her opening with his thumb. She so very wet inside, opening up for him quickly and easily, and he needs to taste her. He gives her nipple a final tug with his teeth before moving down her body. She whines in protest when he pulls his hand away, only to hiss his name when he buries his face between her legs. 

Arya’s thighs tense on either side of him, her body trembling beneath his tongue. Her nails scratch at his scalp whenever he hits a particularly good spot, and he focuses there, licking and suckling and nibbling at her until her body is coiled tight, her cunt absolutely drenched. She tastes better than he could have imagined, and he can’t get enough of her, not even when she shakes and throws her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming his name as she finds her release. He gently works her through it, softly lapping at her until she’s pulling him up, kissing him hard and pulling him down until their bodies are completely pressed together. 

Arya trails a hand between them and takes his length in her hand. Jon groans and drops his forehead to hers, gasping out her name. She guides him to her entrance, rolling her hips a few times to get his tip wet, notching it at her opening. 

“I want this,” she says. “Please, Jon.”

Jon stares into her eyes as he slowly slides into her, needing to make sure he isn’t hurting her. Arya stares back, her eyes wide and lips parted in pleasure. He stops when he’s fully sheathed in her, brushing her hair from her eyes.

“Arya,” he says. She rocks her hips, causing him to hiss.

“Don’t stop,” she says, voice breathy. “Please, don’t stop.”

Jon slowly pulls back before sliding into her again, over and over, until they have a slow rhythm, his hips meeting hers with a wet noise that makes him even harder. He’s done that, he’s aroused her to this point, and he’s going to do everything he can to her body to make her scream her pleasure. They will have time later for fast and rough, which he feels the both will want, but for now, he wants her slowly. He wants to feel her body under his, he wants to catalogue every noise she makes and every place that makes her tighten around him. He wants to learn her body better than he knows his own. 

Jon can feel her tensing around him again, getting close to another release. He reaches between them, teasing circles between her legs until she’s burying her face in his shoulder, muffling her shout of pleasure in his skin. Jon speeds up, pounding faster into her before pulling out just in time to shoot his release onto her smooth stomach. 

Gasping, he collapses next to her and, after wiping her skin clean, gathers her close to him, her small frame splayed out over his body. He can’t stop touching her, running his hand down her arm, ducking down to kiss her, squeezing her tighter to him. He has to keep reminding himself that she is real, that if he lets go, so won’t disappear into the ether. 

Reality starts encroaching on him then. What can he really offer her? He would marry her in a second if that’s what she wants, but why would she? So she can share his weak claim to their home? To fight tooth and nail to keep those who would displace them?

“Stop worrying,” Arya murmurs, reaching up to push at the crease between his eyes. 

“I don’t know what to do Arya,” he admits. “I have no idea what I am doing. I don’t know how to protect you, or our home, or Sansa and Bran. I want you, every bit of you, but that will put you in danger – “

“Don’t be stupid. No more danger than I’m in now,” Arya says. “A Targaryen with Stark blood and a Stark ruling in Winterfell? No one will dare try to take the North from us.”

“You’ve never wanted to rule,” Jon says blankly.

“Neither did you. But we both want to keep our home and the people we love safe,” Arya says. “And we both know that we can.”

Jon studies her carefully. He has to admit, her words make sense. It would give him what he wants, his family safe and Arya at his side. It’s hard for him to imagine a world where he gets what he wants, But Arya is so sure, so steady beside him, that he has to believe her.

“Are you asking me to marry you, Arya Stark?” he asks with a smile. “I think I am the one that is supposed to do that.”

“Then do it,” she laughs, propping herself up on her elbow. “If you aren’t too chicken.”

“Marry me,” he says, rolling til he’s on his elbow facing her, noses barely an inch from each other. “Marry me, Arya.”

Arya grins and launches herself at him, kissing him until he feels like he can't breathe.

Jon’s fears of Sansa and Bran’s disgust and rejection of them are unfounded. Sansa is shocked and uncomfortable for merely a day, before declaring it to be perfect and that it will make them strong. Bran doesn’t look surprised in the least. Bran actually tells them there’s a Targaryen queen in the south, a queen conquering Westeros with the goal of making life better for its inhabitants. Jon’s aunt, he says. 

When Daenerys Targaryen comes to Winterfell, it’s on the back of a dragon with an army behind her. She’s heard of the King in the North and wants his loyalty. She takes in Jon and Arya, and the loyalty the North has to them, and easily agrees to aid in their effort against the White Walkers and their army in return for them recognizing her as the Queen of Westeros. Jon can follow this woman, he decides during their campaign. Arya, refusing to have been left behind, agrees.


End file.
